


Amateur Hour

by grimcognito



Category: How to Get Away with Murder
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Connor Has Panic Attacks, Episode Coda: 01-04, Gen, M/M, Oliver Is Not Who We Think He Is
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-17
Updated: 2014-10-17
Packaged: 2018-02-21 12:31:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,340
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2468294
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/grimcognito/pseuds/grimcognito
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After the events in episode 04, Connor goes to Oliver in a panicked desperation. He's not expecting Oliver's reaction.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Amateur Hour

**Author's Note:**

> I saw the episode and this was all I could think of. :D
> 
> And sorry to anyone who gets excited about this, it's just a oneshot. Also posted at 2 am with no beta, I'm sure I'll find a hundred typos to clean up in the morning.
> 
> Edit: Now those flip-flopping tense changes are corrected! Sorry about that!

When Oliver opened the door, he was ready to shove Connor right back in the elevator and tell security not to let him in again, but this wasn’t an act. Connor was breaking. No, the man was already in pieces, and currently struggling through a panic attack right in the hallway. 

It’s amazing how fragile this man is under the guise of unshakable confidence he tries to cloak himself in. Oliver knelt down carefully, his anger gone for the moment because Connor needed him, and something about it got to Oliver every time. He reached out and gently gripped Connor’s shoulder, hoping it would help anchor him because Oliver wasn’t sure how to handle this. He’d never dealt with someone having a panic attack before. 

Connor was shaking, hard tremors that rattled his whole frame, eyes wide and unfocused, and gasping out the same phrase on broken repeat, “I screwed up. I screwed up. I fucking _screwed up_.” 

Not sure if it would help, but unable to just sit by, Oliver wrapped himself around Connor, ignored the stench of smoke and the way Connor’s hair clung to his fingers with cold sweat as he cradled Connor’s head to his chest. Maybe hearing his heartbeat or being able to feel his breathing would help. He held him, calm and quiet as Connor struggled to get himself under control, settling enough to just clutch at liver’s shirt with dirt-stained fingers and cry. 

He had his suspicions, there wasn’t much a person could do that involved both dirt and blisters on their hands, and the kind of stark terror from knowing you fucked up beyond repair. Sighing softly, he curled his hands around Connor’s arms and helped get him to his feet, keeping him close as he side-stepped them into his apartment, glancing around to make sure none of his neighbors had gotten too nosy. Nothing. Good.

Connor curled in on himself as soon as he sat on the couch, refusing to release his grip on Oliver’s shirt as he pressed his face to Oliver’s stomach, shoulders shaking with silent sobs. Oliver didn’t bother trying to get away, just wrapped his arms around Connor’s shoulders and held on until he was breathing evenly, with the exception of a few sniffles and bitten off noises. 

“I’m sorry.” Connor whispered miserably. “I’m sorry, but I didn’t know where else… where else to go.”

Oliver ran his fingers through Connor’s wet hair, combing it away from his face and pulled back just far enough to be able to sink to his knees in front of Connor. Now face to face, he held Connor’s jaw, not letting him look away. “What happened?” 

Eyes wet, Connor’s jaw clenched so it wouldn’t tremble and he shook his head, looking pained. “I-I can’t. I can’t fuck up your life too.” He looked ready to jump up and leave, but he also looked like he wasn’t far from another round of hysterics, so Oliver grabbed him by the thigh, and Connor froze, swallowing and eyes darting everywhere but Oliver’s face.

“Connor, you’ve got dirt on your hands, and blisters, which I’m guessing are from a shovel. You showed up at my door at six in the morning and had a panic attack over something that you did. I need you to tell me what happened.” Oliver refused to look away, and Connor kept shaking his head, but his shoulders slumped and fresh tears trailed down his cheeks. 

“We fucked up.”

Oliver shouldn’t keep caring about this man, who couldn’t read the obvious signs of a relationship, who mouthed off until it got him in trouble, who clearly had no idea how to compartmentalize in situations like this. He shouldn’t care, but he did, more than he ever had before. “Tell me.” 

The story came out in stuttered pieces, some out of order as Connor fit them together into a long series of events that escalated into the death of a professor, who happened to be their boss’ husband. Who slept with a girl who’d been later found murdered. And that was just the tip of the iceberg. Connor kept interrupting himself to freak out and Oliver carefully got him back on track until he knew the whole story.

When he was done, Oliver leaned back on his heels and pressed his lips together, hands resting on Connor’s knees as Connor roughly wiped his face with his sleeve. “Where did you hide the body?”

Connor choked on an ugly sound, a mangled half-laugh with no humor. “That’s what you want to know? That’s seriously your first concern?” His voice went high and strangled and Oliver squeezed his knees, anchoring him.

“Where?” Oliver asked, already adding up the little mistakes Connor’s group had made, what would get them caught. 

Connor paused, looking at him carefully, and with a wariness he’d never had before. “Why aren’t you more freaked out?” 

“Focus,” Oliver said instead of answering the question. “Where did you hide the body?” 

Connor squinted at him, probably a mix of realization finally struggling to break through as he fought off what had to be a massive headache and the other million concerns crowding his mind, but he tells him. Oliver patted his thigh and nodded. Not the worst place, but not the best either. 

He stared at Connor a moment longer wondering if he was really about to do this, about to risk so much for one man who might have deep feelings for him but didn’t how to show it. In the end, his answer was still yes. He pulled out his phone and Connor tensed, frozen, eyes wide with fear and betrayal. He thought Oliver was calling the police. 

Not hardly.

Holding onto Connor’s knee with one hand, and scrolled through his contacts with the other. Found the name he was looking for and pressed it, ignoring Connor’s frantic demands to know what he was doing. He moved his hand to brush it over Connor’s cheek while the line rang in his ear. “I’m not turning you in.” Slid his fingers down to press against Connor’s mouth when it looked like he was going to speak again, and focused on the voice answering his call. 

**[Blue. Been a while. What’s so important you called me this early?]**

“I’m calling in my favor, Red.”

There was a pause at that. He’s not surprised, it was a big favor, and not one he’d use lightly. **[That bad? Tell me what you need.]**

“I’ve got a situation that needs a hell of a clean-up. One body, several witnesses, and a trail of evidence I need swept under a very big rug.” 

Connor made another strangled noise, eyes round with shocked disbelief, but Oliver silenced him with a hard look. “I need some names cleared as well.”

The sleepy annoyance was gone from Red’s voice and there’s the sound of rustling in the background when she spoke. **[Well shit, you really did need to call in that favor. Fine, but after this, we’re even. Text me to place, I’m not about to have this discussion over a phone.]**

Red hung up before Oliver could answer, and he fired of a text with a coded date and time before slipping his phone back into his pocket and turning to Connor with an expectant look, waiting for the outburst he knew was coming. 

He wasn’t disappointed. “What the fuck. What the actual fuck.” Connor’s tone is flat, making the words statements instead of questions. “What was that? That was not a call a fucking advertising IT worker makes.” He slowly starts to pull back. “Oh my god, are you a murderer?”

Oliver snorted. That was rich, coming from the guy who just burned and hid the body of a man he and his friends killed.

“Not quite.” He reached under the couch and felt around until his fingers slipped between two layers of fabric and he pulled out a slim little case. Flipped it open to show an ID and badge. “I work for the government.”

**Author's Note:**

> Seriously though, i need all the fics of Oliver being secretly a BAMF. And I have no idea what kind of work he does exactly, but it's clearly in the gray-and-shady area of things. 
> 
> I own nothing and claim nothing but the idea and arrangement of words to make up this story. How To Get Away With Murder belongs to it's respective ownerships and standard disclaimers apply.


End file.
